100 Books Like Toward the Setting Sun

Wilson-Lee’s brilliant book is not strictly about Columbus, but about his youngest son Hernando Colón and the extraordinary library that he created in Seville.

However, it sheds much light on Columbus and his world. And (to paraphrase what I wrote when I listed this as one of my three “Favorite reads in 2023”), the book is not only a contribution to Columbus studies, but also an absolute pleasure to read.

It is erudite and scholarly, and Wilson-Lee shows a keen eye for fascinating digressions. Yet he also writes with wit and elegance, maintaining subtle narrative tension and effortlessly bringing the reader deep into the eccentric world of Hernando and his many books.

If I want to read a more recent narrative of the Four Voyages, without caring if its details are well-evidenced or drawn from Columbiana mythology, I’ll turn to a lively book like Lawrence Bergreen’s Columbus.

But for one that finds a middle ground between Bergreen and Fernández-Armesto, telling a good tale while also paying close attention to historical evidence, I turn to this book by the Phillipses.

I especially value and enjoy how the authors emphasize and explain Columbus’s contexts, bringing us along with Columbus into the worlds of Genoa, Portugal, Spain, and then the Caribbean. I also appreciate how hard the Phillipses try to avoid overtly condemning or defending Columbus in a general way—not an easy path to stay on!  

I think Felipe Fernández-Armesto is one of the most original and brilliant historians writing in English today, and I love how his erudite, yet witty and engaging writing style is on full display here. He has written several Columbus books, but this remains the most readable. 

And—as a historian of Columbus myself—I am impressed by and grateful for Fernández-Armesto’s unwavering commitment to evidence and its rational appraisal. He is not trying to sell some treasured belief or solve some imagined mystery but simply telling a story as objectively but engagingly as possible.

At times, there is a hint of eccentricity to how he writes, but that only adds to the unique pleasure of this book.

As my own book seeks to show, there are so many ways to approach the larger topic of Columbus and his worlds (or “Columbiana,” as I call it), and so many stories to tell that go beyond the well-known tale of his voyages. This book tells the story of the 1992 Quincentennial (or Quincentenary), crucial to understanding the relationship between the historical Columbus of five centuries earlier, and the controversial Columbus of today.

Although this is a scholarly book, and as such I found it impeccably researched and carefully written, I also thoroughly enjoyed its clear and engaging prose—spiced with dabs of dry wit. The twists and turns of the story are well introduced, as are the contrasts between how the Quincentennial is treated in different countries.

Why do people harm each other and the planet? Why do the rich continue to accumulate more and more wealth, when they already have all they need? When is enough, enough?

Those questions can be answered by social psychologists, environmental economists, historians, and other academics. But Jack D. Forbes’ book is perhaps the best explanation I have ever read. Drawing on the history of the colonization of North America, Forbes (Renape/Lenape) argues that modern civilization is based around “a spiritual sickness with a physical vector.” He calls it the wetiko disease: the desire to consume other beings, with no possibility of satiation. Forbes’ exploration from his indigenous perspective is one of the most important books I’ve ever read.

This is a little off-piste in that this isn’t exactly about cold climates; the main topic of Dodds Pennock’s book is about how Indigenous Americans discovered Europe. I first heard Dodds Pennock talk about her book at a lecture in London just a few months back and had to buy the book, which is a riveting account of the reverse migration of Indigenous Americans to Europe.  

Why include this book on the Arctic, you ask? Dodds Pennock also writes about a few Indigenous Inuit that make it to England, and I haven’t stopped thinking about the story she tells about their fraught lives in the UK and (until now) unknown or forgotten history in England. For example, she tells a gripping story of two Inuits who were abducted and brought to London in the 1570s and are buried in the city in unmarked graves at St. Olave’s Church. 

When the story of Christopher Columbus gets told, it’s typically as a tale of his having sailed west to get quickly to the east. But in this gorgeously produced, exhaustively researched study, Nicolás Wey-Gómez argues that to understand Columbus and his story properly, you have to understand it as a story about voyages to the south. Columbus inherited a powerful set of assumptions about the nature and peoples found in southern latitudes, and it’s those assumptions, Wey-Gómez contends, that allowed Columbus and the many Europeans that followed him to the New World to justify their various colonial enterprises.

If you want to understand how both South America and the New World were “discovered” by Europeans, which had nearly the same effect on Native Americans that a meteor did on the dinosaurs, there’s no better way to understand it than to journey along on Columbus’ four voyages and be there when he and his crew set ashore. Columbus set foot on the northern part of South America on his third voyage, visiting the coast of what is now Venezuela. Bergreen’s book does an admirable job of introducing you to the man whose voyages would ultimately affect millions of people. This is the closest anyone will ever get to being on board as an entirely New World first hove into sight.

I can’t stop going back to this book, which I have read in various translations under various titles. No book I know better documents the transformation of a human being. Abandoned, shipwrecked, and enslaved, Cabeza de Baca, a conquistador in the model of Cortez, begins a barefoot trek across the American Southwest as one kind of man and ends it as the opposite of the man who started out.

His memoir has the shape and structure of an adventure novel, and, truly, this narrative is where American literature begins. He leaves me in awe of his will to survive, his capacity for adaptation, and his compassion and love for the native world that he had come to the continent’s shores to subjugate.

As well as the characters who populate nautical stories and the sea itself, ships have such a vivid voice.

This non-fiction book follows HMS Erebus from her early journey to Antarctica to her eventual disappearance in the Canadian Arctic. I have a small obsession with polar exploration and this book captures the drama, the terror, and the mystery of it.

Michael Palin’s sensitivity to the historical issues and the real figures is very moving, especially the moment when the primary documents stop and all that is left to tell these men’s tales is a note in a desolate cairn.

I want to also sneakily recommend AMC’s adaptation of Dan Simmons’s The Terror, a TV show based on these events, which has some of my favourite writing in any piece of media.